


Doctors

by Deviant_Accumulation



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviant_Accumulation/pseuds/Deviant_Accumulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q likes his privacy. He likes it very much. A certain 00 agent doesn't seem to get that. Neither Q nor the certain agent are adept at dealing with relationships of any kind.</p><p>Or: Where Bond hates the medical and takes Q as a substitute. Q just would like Bond to knock and not <em>break</em> into his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cut

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue. If you find any mistakes, feel free to inform me of them or something else you might have found bad or good or just anything to fill my author heart with joy.

Q tiredly rubbed his eyes as he shuffled the few stairs up to his little apartment. The last mission had been like a trip to hell. Like practically any mission that involved Bond in any way. The man just seemed to attract catastrophes like a magnet iron filings. The sort of catastrophes that ended with lots of triggers pulled and huge explosions and Q having to get the agent out of the mess.  
His head complained about his recent lack of sleeping with violent head aches and he felt like his cardigan suddenly became 100 pounds heavier and was now steadily attempting to drag him to the ground.  
Nonetheless, he made it to the door, fumbled with the keys and finally managed to unlock the door.  
His fingers fumbled around for the light switch on the wall as he closed the door behind him and with one click the tiny corridor was flooded with light.

  
„Hello Q.“

  
Q jumped at the sound of the deep voice and backed up against the door, adrenaline coursing like an electric current through his veins.  
The by now familiar frame of 007, agent of his Majesty, broke away from the wall he had been leaning on.

  
„Y-y-you“, Q stammered, looking at Bond like a deer caught in the headlights, the shock waking him better than ten cups coffee.

„I mean: what the hell?“

  
The corner of Bond's mouth quirked in an amused grin.

  
„Okay, let's just... don't do that again, okay? I mean, you can just knock if you want or something, just, no creepy ambushing in my hallway alright?“

  
„I see what I can do“, Bond replied and Q let out a tired groan.

  
„Just like you try to bring back the gadgets I give you?“

  
Not waiting for an answer he shuffled past Bond towards the kitchen. Rummaging in the cupboard he found the already opened cookie can. Popping the lid open he took one of the cookies out and put it into his mouth, regardless of the weird looks Bond gave him.  
Geniuses needed comfort food after heavy shock.  
Bond silently watched as Q ate his cookie.

  
„So, what can I do for you?“, Q asked after the cookie had fully disappeared from the world of living, looking at Bond curiously.

  
„How much experience do you have in the medical field?“, Bond asked.

  
„Medical field?“, Q asked slightly baffled. „Well, I got the standard training from MI6, so better than your average civilian I guess, but I'm not a doctor.“

  
Bond shrugged. „Will do.“

  
Then he started to unbutton his jacket.  
Q paled significantly. He had heard of Bond's reputation (after all, who hadn't), but this was... unexpected.  
Before he could say something, Bond had shrugged the jacket off, revealing the white shirt he wore underneath.  
Which wasn't so white anymore.  
On Bond's upper arm a large stain had seeped into the cloth, its colour already starting to turn from fresh red to brown. In the middle of the stain the shirt was ripped, revealing a still red glistening wound. Q looked at the jacket Bond had flung over one of his kitchen chairs too, only now noticing the darker spots and the rent at one of its arms.  
Looking up he saw Bond eyeing him expectantly. He sighed. „I get the first aid kit, you stay here and be careful to not bleed on the table, alright?“

 

A few moments later he was carefully wrapping white gauze around 007's upper arm and wondered when his life had became _that_ weird (given that his life had never been normal, but this was just starting to go overboard).

  
„So, someone has an animosity towards medical?“, he asked to break the awkward silence.

  
Bond stayed quiet for a few moments and the silence became even more awkward.

  
„The doctor's there fuss too much“, he replied finally.

  
Q rolled his eyes. „Oh, the great weakness of the almighty agent of His Majesty: fussing.“

  
Bond let out a small huff that might pass as a chuckle.

  
Q sighed and taped the gauze tight. „There. I won't kiss it better for you. And the next time feel free to go to medical instead of lurking in the dark in my apartment. Just saying.“

  
„Will do“, Bond replied shortly and stood up. He swayed dangerously for a moment and gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. Then he slowly shuffled in the direction of the front door.

  
„Hey, wait a minute.“ Without much thinking Q made a grab for Bond's arm – the (hopefully) uninjured one. „Where exactly do you plan on going in this state, hm?“

  
„To my flat“, Bond said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it probably was, except for when one is in serious danger of collapsing after walking more than five meters.

  
„Of course. You're going nowhere like this. My bed is big enough even for someone like you and I have a spare set of blankets, so there we go.“

  
„Q, don't be ridiculous.“

  
„Don't be ridiculous yourself“, Q answered stoically. He forcefully dragged Bond in the direction of his bed room. It was probably the most telling sign that he was indeed exhausted that Bond let him.  
Q flipped the light switch and practically shoved Bond towards the bed.

  
„Blankets, pillows, everything here. So. There. Sleep. Now“, he ordered.

  
„When people normally drag me to their bedroom it's for completely different reasons you know?“, Bond said, but already starts to loosen his tie.

  
„Who would have guessed?“, Q answered dryly. „Good night then.“

  
He closed the door and made his way to the couch, grabbing a spare blanket on the way.  
He would probably have terrible neck cramps the next morning, but for now the warm blanket and the soft cushion feel like heaven and he's asleep within three seconds.


	2. Blood

He _did_ have terrible neck cramps when he awoke the next morning. His feet were cold from where the blanket was too short to cover them. The floor was even colder and he shuddered as he walked the way to the kitchen bare footed. Upon his arrival he put on the kettle. While waiting for the water to boil, his gaze fell on the first-aid-kit that laid on the table.  
  
“Oh... shit...”, he murmured as he remembered why exactly he had slept on the couch.  
  
The kettle gave a 'click' to signalize that the water was ready and he hurried to put it together with a spoonful of green tea into the teapot.  
Thinking he stared into the swirling steam. Given, weirder thinks had happened then 007 suddenly appearing in his flat at 2 AM, but it was pretty high up on the list. Fact was, he really did not know how to deal with him. On work it was easy. They were bantering, dancing around each other, challenging the other one constantly. He was very fond of these times, a welcome change from the impassive faces of other MI6 agents.  
  
However, this was different. Well, of course it was. Appearing in houses did cross some boundaries after all.  
  
'Not to forget the fact that he's sleeping in your bed', his brain helpfully supplied. Q let out a sigh.  
  
He didn't know any wise course of action that would fit into the work-collaegue-broke-into-my-house-while-bleeding-and-he's-now-sleeping-in-my-bed-and-also-he's-a-secret-service-agent-of-Her-Majesty-situation.

In the end he settled for a hot cup of tea (he didn't even know if Bond actually drank tea). Holding the steaming blue mug in one hand he knocked on the bedroom door with the other.  
No response.  
He knocked again, this time harder.  
Still no sound coming out from the bedroom.  
He opened the door.  
  
The curtains before the window where neatly tucked to the sight and the pale London sunlight streamed into the room. The bed was carefully made-up, looking like it had never been used.  
No trace of Bond anywhere.

 

At 9 AM he was at his second cup of coffee, sipping at it while typing furiously on his keyboard as he infused a virus into the network of a company suspected of illegal transitions, that benefited some very shady organizations.  
Over the sound of the busy clatter of keyboards and low voices the front door to the department opened. The sound of determined steps resounded in the suddenly falling quiet room and he looked up to see M approaching carrying a folder in one hand, Bond trailing in her shadow. The head of MI6 glanced to her side and hastily the interns resumed their work.  
Q sighed inwardly and let his fingers fly over the keys. In a few seconds he had finished inducting the small program and stood up before M and Bond had arrived at his desk.  
  
He spared a side glance at 007, who looked as impassive as always, weren't it for the slightly stiffer set of his shoulders.  
M seemed to notice his glance, as well as she probably noticed that something was off about one of her 00 agents, but didn't comment on it.

  
“Ma'am. What can I do for you?”, he asked politely.

  
“I need you to prepare a gun for 007, until tomorrow. He'll be going on a mission that starts the next day at 10 AM, in this folder are all the necessary details. You will be accompanying him over the comms.”

  
“Tomorrow?”, Q echoed before he could stop himself.

  
M narrowed her eyes and Q regretted his carelessness immediately.

  
“Do you think you cannot prepare the gun fast enough?”, she asked coolly.

  
“No, no, it's not a problem”, he hastily replied.

  
“Good. You two go over the mission, I have an appointment to meet.” She left without any further ado.

  
Q glanced at Bond, who looked more like a statue of stone than a living human being.  
This was going to be very awkward.

 

 

Awkward had been an understatement, Q thought as he flopped on his couch back home.  
  
Bond had said as less as possible, deflecting every one of Q's attempts to make the conversation less technical with a short-clipped answer and a cold look.  
His fingers drummed restlessly on the cushion and he glanced at the clock. 9 PM. Too early for going to bed. Though he doubted that he could sleep now anyways. Sighing he stood up from the couch and went to get the case that rested on top of one of the cupboards.

 

As his fingertips tapped on the dark wood, pressing down the thin strings in fast motions like they were dancing to the sound of the violin, he felt himself coming more to ease. His worries got pushed away from the forefront of his mind as he concentrated on the instrument in his hands, his right arm moving the bow over the strings, fast and slow, crescendo and decrescendo as the music poured like liquid into the room.  
His mind was blank and open at the same time, eyes closed to concentrate on the motion of his hands, the minute position of his fingers and the oscillating of his wrist.

  
“Mozart?”, he heard over the music and he winced, nearly dropping the violin.

  
The quiet that had settled on his mind was gone immediately, as his eyes flew open and he spun around, seeing Bond leaning in the door frame to his living room.

  
“No, Hans Millies, composing in the style of Mozart”, he responded more on automatic than on actual thinking.

  
Bond shrugged. “Never was one to be extremely invested in arts.”

  
He reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, pulling out a white cylindrical thing.

“Here”, he hold it out to Q.

  
Q set down the violin and the bow, taking the thing and turning it in his hands to examine it.

“You're giving me a... gauze bandage?”, he asked incredulously.

  
“I used up one of yours, so yes.”

  
Bond buttoned up his jacket and turned around, heading towards the front door.

  
“Wait!”, Q called out, stepping towards Bond into the hall.

  
Bond stopped, his back to Q, turning his head a bit to indicate that he was listening.

  
“You just break into my apartment to give me a _bandage_?”, Q asked.

  
“Like I said, it is compensation.”

  
“Compensation”, Q repeated, feeling anger starting to bubble inside of him.

  
Bond turned away and opened the door.

  
“Be careful around M. She knows that I was here last night and I don't really want to know what sort of notions she is coming up with.” He closed the door behind himself, leaving Q alone in the living room, bandage in one hand.

  
There was the fading sound of steps and then it was quiet.  
  
The anger boiled inside him as he stared down on the little package. Anger at Bond for appearing and disappearing as he pleased, for catching him so completely off-guard and for just giving him the cold shoulder after he had helped him.  
In a sudden motion he threw the bandage against the door Bond had just left through.  
The package just bounced of it, dropping completely unharmed to the ground, doing nothing to calm Q's quiet fury. He stared at it like it was his personal enemy and then stomped off to tuck the violin back into its case.


	3. Wound

The static that came out of the comm in his ear unnerved him. His eyes followed the blinking point that marked 007's position through the criss-crossing lines of Tokyo's streets. The whole mission had escalated the moment when they discovered the case, belonging to the Yakuza, had been stolen by a third party, who had like it had been planned for 007 took use of the time span where Q had short-circuited their security system. The same party was now being chased by Bond through Tokyo's street.  
  
Q's fingers practically blurred as they flew over the keyboard, hacking into security cameras to keep track of the woman who had stolen the case.

  
“007, go left at the next turn. After that right and then left again. There will be a bridge, under which she'll arrive in 30 seconds. You can cut her off there.”

  
“Roger that,” came 007's short clipped answer.

  
Q's eyes flickered over the monitors, switching from the woman with the motorbike to Bond who was driving a stolen black Yakuza car with tinted windows.  
The woman was on one of the highways, getting dangerously fast near to the bridge as 007 meanders between the skyscrapers.  
On the map the two blinking points came closer and closer to each other.  
Q's shoulders were tense and his hands fidgeted next to the keyboard. There was nothing left he could do now, expect watching.  
On the screen 007's car took a sudden left swing from the road he was following and broke through the balustrade, falling about 5 meters down on the high way.  
  
The crash of metal and stone resonated in his ears, so loud that he felt deaf for a few moments.  
The two points overlapped each other and then stopped moving.

  
“007, report, now!” The words were harsher then he had intended them, but his heart was beating rapidly in his chest like a caged bird and the silence wasn't unnerving anymore, it was downright terrifying.

  
There was a cough in his ear. “I'm fine, Q,” said Bond and he nearly sagged with relief at hearing his voice.

  
Over the comm he could hear the rustle of debris and the loud sound of car wheels creaking and signal-horns.

  
“The woman is dead,” Bond reported over the comms. “Broke her neck. I could retrieve the suit case.”

  
“A clean-up team is on their way, leave the rest to them and retreat,” Q replied.

  
“Understood.”

 

 

It was 10 PM and Q was sipping at his fifth mug of coffee, an amount that certainly wasn't healthy but required in the current situation if he didn't wanted to fall asleep on his own working desk.  
Numbly he stared at the monitor before him, the information not really making it into his brain, and pondered about his quite miserable situation.  
  
He needed to go home and get sleep. Now.  
  
He did not, however, need Bond lurking around in his hallway. Again.  
The problem was, the probability of Bond lurking in his hallway wasn't sinking just because he was delaying his departure.  
  
Because Bond really got under his skin. He unnerved him. Not because of his sometimes arrogant attitude. Or the constant banter. Or his stubbornness.  
But because he liked him.  
  
There. Done. He had admitted it to himself, great.  
  
It did not solve the problem of Bond lurking in his hall way. And while he might be pretty fond of him sometimes, their current relationship was at the very least a bit... strained.  
  
If he saw Bond again today, he'd probably have some sort of emotional outburst. Which probably would involve a lot shouting out some of the anger that he had bottled up inside of him.  
  
Given, he didn't even know if Bond would be at his apartment. The last two visits had been because of necessity. First bandaging up his wounds, then the compensation (he still hated the sound of that), both things that couldn't be done here, in case someone else would notice.  
So there shouldn't be any reason that Bond would be at his apartment.  
  
Aside from the feeling Q had that the stubborn agent had again been lying when he said that he was fine.

 

 

When he opened the door to his apartment, the light was burning. Swiftly he pulled out the gun every person who worked for MI6 had to carry from underneath his jacket. There were noises coming out of the kitchen and quietly he skulked closer, gun ready.  
  
He peeked around the corner through the open door, hoping for a desperate moment that it was a burglar or terrorist or serial killer, just anything but Bond.  
  
Of course it was Bond, tinkering around one-handed with Q's kettle. He looked up when Q entered the kitchen, quirking an eyebrow at the still drawn though now pointed downwards gun. With a smile that was just a little bit too strained around the corners to be genuine he offered Q a steaming cup of tea.  
  
“I can assure you that no one else is here, Q. You can tuck the gun away,” he said smoothly, his mouth quirking up on one side in a manner that most people would call 'handsome' or 'charming'.  
Q was really not in the mood to be one of 'most people' today. If Bond thought he could just come here, ensnare him and Q would fall to his knees for him, well, then he could just go and fuck himself.  
  
Q didn't tuck the gun away and Bond's smile faded.

  
“Is the tea also for _compensatio_ n?” he asked, speaking the word in a mocking manner.

  
“Not exactly, it is-”

  
“Oh, shut up!” Q interrupted him before he could elaborate the probably pretty clever excuse he had come up with. Bond winced a bit at his sudden outburst.

  
“You have managed to injure yourself again,” Q continued, “left shoulder this time. And now you've come here so I can tape you up again, offering my own tea as _compensation_.”

  
Bond's brow furrowed. “I can bring you new tea if you wan-”

  
“I DON'T WANT TEA!”

  
This time Bond definitely winced.

  
“I don't want any tea or gauze bandage or flowers or wine or whatever you could come up with to excuse breaking in my apartment and wanting me to take care of you and then give me the cold shoulder afterwards, understood?” he yelled furiously and too loud.

  
Bond carefully set down the mug.

  
“Understood, Quartermaster,” he said, face set in stone, betraying none of the emotions that he might have been going through right now.  
In carefully controlled steps he walked out of the kitchen, past Q.

  
“All I want is a simple 'Thank you',” Q said quietly. Next to him, Bond froze.

  
Q stared at his shoes, feeling Bond's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look up and meet Bond's eyes, afraid of what he might see in them.  
A sudden movement went through the agent and Q turned around to see Bond hurrying out of the room towards the door, coat flailing behind him.  
The loud sound as Bond threw the door closed hurt more than a physical hit.  
  
Suddenly very tired, Q slumped down on one of the kitchen stairs, burying his head in his hands.


	4. Eschar

He felt like complete crap the next morning. The interns sent him worried glances as he hurried past them to his lab. He knew he probably looked exactly like he felt at that moment.

He hadn't been able to catch any real rest last night, instead lying awake in his bed until 2 AM. Then he finally gave up on the possibility of sleep and attempted to at least not completely waste the time by trying to finish some of the left-over paperwork.  
After he typed 'catastrophe' wrong for the fifth time in a row and felt like he could throw the laptop out of the window, he declared this one for a lost cause too.  
To avoid to letting frustration get the better of him and destroy anything – namely his laptop – he went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

Which wasn't a wise action considering that the mug and pot of tea Bond had left behind still rested on the table, though both had been cold by then.

Sometime after he had paced a little road into his kitchen floor and shattered one of his favourite mugs and the tea pot, he fell into a fitful sleep, which lasted only for a few hours, but left him with a lot of muscle cramps when he woke up lying half on the table and half on one of his kitchen stools in a very uncomfortable position, surrounded by the shards of his kitchen utensils and dried tea.

When he glanced at the clock in his kitchen, he had to discover that it was already 7:54 AM and he was left with six minutes to get ready for, and arrive at work.

He had needed 41 minutes until he got to MI6 in total, costing him a lot of concessions towards his outer appearance, so that his hair was even unrulier than normal.

 

When he entered the lab he saw Tanner standing next to one of the desks, conversing with one of the scientists who were responsible for the testing of new weapons, Sophia. As he entered the room, both of them looked up and Sophia quickly excused herself. Tanner walked up to him.

 

“Good morning,” he said, hesitating slightly as he took in Q's disheveled appearance and the dark bags under his eyes.

 

“Good morning, Tanner,” he greeted him back, managing a half-smile despite how he was currently feeling.

 

Tanner didn't seem very convinced by his attempt to ease his worries.

 

“M wants to see you,” he informed him and Q's already crippled smile died.

 

“Right now?” he asked, resigned. Tanner nodded. Q's shoulders slumped and he let out a defeated – and pretty unprofessional – sigh.

 

“Q?” Tanner asked and he looked up to see Tanner eyeing him worriedly.

 

“Is everything alright?” M's right hand asked him, concern resonating in his voice.

 

Q looked away from him, not wanting to meet Tanner's eyes.

 

“You know, if there is something – or someone for the matter – who is causing you problems, you can come to me, okay?”

 

“Thank you, Tanner,” he said, and he meant it. Contrary to many other interns and agents Tanner had never shown any resentment to him for being the new – and compared to the last Q very young – Quartermaster. Instead he had helped him rebuilding the Q branch after the Skyfall incident, as well as supporting him against the prejudices most of his colleagues met him with, and he was beyond grateful for it, hoping that he could repay the man one day.

Still...

 

“I am afraid this isn't something you can help me with this time,” he said apologetic.

 

Tanner looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

 

“Okay. Just... take care, alright?”

 

Tanner clapped him on the shoulder and then left the room.

 

 

 

 

Nervous he stood in front of the door to M's office, rearranging his tie for probably the fifth time by now and trying to work up the courage to finally knock.

M was a person he had a lot of respect for – and also a healthy amount of fear, considering that she lead one of the most dangerous institutions in the world. Normally this wouldn't faze him this much.  
He had gotten used to her and her hawk-like, judging eyes. However, this would normally be about business and getting work done and not about himself. And normally he wouldn't get summoned to her like this.

Sighing one last time he knocked on the translucent glass door.

 

“Come in”, he heard M more ordering than saying from inside.

 

He opened the door and stepped into the office. M sat behind her desk, studying a file.

She looked up as he closed the door behind him and signalized him with a gesture to sit down on one of the chairs in front of her desk.

 

“You're late,” she greeted him and put the paper to the side.

 

“My apologies, ma'am,” he said, feeling like a school boy getting scolded by his teacher.

 

“Would you mind telling me what exactly is going on between you and 007?”

 

Q flinched.

 

“W-What?” he croaked, the question taking him completely by surprise. “I-I don't kn-”

 

“Don't even start, Q,” M said in a dangerous low tone. “The two of you have been acting very unusual lately. I know that Bond has been at your apartment for three times in total now. So do not think that you can lie to me,” she said sharply, her eyes boring into Q's.

 

Q refused to look away and hold her gaze steadily.

 

“The situation between 007 and I isn't going to affect our work,” he said calmly.

 

M sighed and grabbed the paper she had put aside earlier.

 

“Agent 007 appeared tonight at MI6, 3:02 AM and got one ignorant intern to hand him one of the outstanding missions – the intern has been dealt with by the way – and took the next flight to Germany, armed with one gun from our weapon arsenal and nothing else. I don't have to tell you that he skipped the step where he informs me or anyone else of the interns about this thing.”

 

Q had been listening with a sinking feeling in his stomach and now groaned inwardly, muttering a quiet “Idiot” under his breath.

 

“Exactly,” said M. “Luckily enough it is not a difficult mission, he should be back soon, probably in two days. I want you to solve whatever disparities you have with him as fast as possible. Is that understood?” M asked in an admonitory tone.

 

Q nodded and stood up.

 

He was already at the door when M called, “And, Q?” He turned around to see the hard look on her face gone, being replaced with something that might be a certain kindness.

 

“Despite his usual demeanour, Bond is a good man, no matter how much he tries to hide it. He has a lot of problems showing it, but it's still there. So, please, be patient with him.”

 

“I will,” Q replied.

 

M's eyes narrowed. “That doesn't mean that you have to put up with everything he does. God knows how many time I wanted to just fire this irritable man. Sometimes it's also good to just remind him that he can't always do as he pleases.”

 

The corner of Q's mouth twitched. “Understood ma'am.”

 


	5. Skin

Bond hadn't come back by the evening. One of the interns of Q branch had gotten the task to find him, but hadn't had any success yet. Q doubted that this would change. If Bond didn't wanted to be found, then he wasn't found. Though it was itching in his fingers to give it a try. M had however ordered him to design a new weapon, look into the files of someone she wanted to order for his branch and at last to decrypt the flash drive Bond had retrieved from Japan, a connection that wasn't really helping him to keep his mind off the man. 

The idiotic, stupid, suicidal man. 

Of whom he was now hoping to turn up at his apartment. Which was completely ridiculous, as his mind reminded him every passing minute. His body was screaming for rest after the last sleepless night. So far he had used the excuse of decrypting the flash drive – which was more a thing of time than of difficulty, because there were a lot of files that were encrypted separately with different codes. 

He finished opening another file and his eyes nearly fell closed as the now decoded name of one of the companies flashed on the screen. He let his gaze wander down the list. 121 more to go. Great. He had spent half of his day on this and managed 20 so far. 

Letting out a tired sign he clicked on the next file. His fingers already hovered over the keyboard to start the next decoding when his sleep-deprived brain found the connection. Hectically he scrolled up again, looking at the name of the company. 

The company was the same one that Bond was investigating on an - unapproved – mission.

“Oh... damn it”, he muttered and clicked on the name. Before him unfolded a stream of data, charts and numbers and names blinking to life, the bright colours illuminating his face and reflecting from his glasses.

Q's fingers froze as he took in the displayed data.

“Shit...” he whispered. 

 

Tanner groaned as the disdained ring tone of his mobile phone jolted him out of his peaceful, well-deserved, and - most importantly - very much needed sleep. 

He entangled himself from the mess of warm blankets and cushions, grabbing around on the night stand until he finally felt the vibrating, obnoxious source of equally obnoxious sound.

“Who is speaking?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.

“It's Q. I need to speak to M immediately,” MI6's Quartermaster answered from the other end of the line in a hurried tone.

“What is it?” Tanner asked, sitting up, his attention not anymore on the soft cushion but on Q.

“I've started to decode the flash drive. One of the company's names was the same as the one Bo- 007 is currently investigating. Apparently they are doing a bit more than just some eco-crimes.”

“Namely?” Tanner asked.

“Developing highly illegal, even more destructive biological weapons,” Q completed the sentence. 

Tanner paused for a moment.

“This isn't a simple break-in, obtain information and run away before anyone sees you mission anymore,” Q said vividly. “It's a lot more than 007 thought he was signing up for and we can't let him walk in there just like that.”

Tanner had already stood up and grabbed a shirt out of the cupboard, hurrying across the room to retrieve the black sleek mobile phone that rested in a hidden safe behind his bin, one of only a handful of phones with which one could reach M immediately.

“Already on it,” he said as he practically punched in the code. “Where are you right now, Q?”

“On my way to the headquarters. I'll be there in approximately five minutes.”

“And what exactly do you plan on doing when you get there?”

“Tracking Bond.”

Tanner's brow furrowed. “It's as good as impossible to find 007 when he doesn't want to be found. One of your sub-ordinates sat on it all day and found nothing, if I remember correctly.”

“I'm not one of my sub-ordinates,” Q said steely.

 

Bond swore violently as he ran around corner into a dark alley way. He pressed himself into the shadows, slowing his breathing forcefully down to minimize any sound he might be making. The loud howling of alarm sirens broke through the night and faintly underneath the deafening noise he could hear the barking of watch dogs.

_Now, that's just great._

He closed his eyes in frustration, silently cursing himself for his imprudent actions. 

But the mission had looked so simple, hardly something A 00 agent would be bothered with and he had been in desperate need of something to distract him – the only other alternative would have been drinking and his position at MI6 was precarious enough without him falling back into that abyss. 

Now he almost wished he had drank himself into a stupor, because he was standing in the industrial area of Hamburg, Germany, without any form of back-up or technical support, his only equipment being a gun with merely five shots left, while being chased by men with too much heavy weaponry and too much military experience.

This was most certainly not some sort of little fish mission about a company eliminating their COMPETITORS a little bit too quickly and smoothly for the whole thing to be legal, while dumping some of their waste were it didn't belong.  
The barking came closer and he knew just hiding wouldn't cut it, so he looked around for any sort of hiding place or escape opportunity.

He was standing between two huge warehouses, dark shadows before the night sky, its black blurred from the light pollution.

Behind the gap where he had come from was a huge, free area, which he really didn't want to set foot upon, now that the flood light had been turned on and illuminated the place better than the noonday sun ever could, painting sharp shadows on the ground and Bond's face, the fast change of darkness and 1000 Watt light bulb.

A fish bowl, free target practice for everyone.

On the end of the open space, from him on the right stood the huge main building, one grey chunk of concrete, rather unassuming to everyone, but equipped with every form of high tech security – which hadn't been in the mission file – including invisible laser barriers he had triggered when he broke in through one of the windows. After that there had been an awful lot of running – and a bit shooting – on his part and a lot of loud yells on the part of the security people. And now he was pretty far away from the only unofficial entry and exit, with chances of getting there being - even for him - impossibly low.

To the left was the main exit of the whole complex, one gap in the unfriendly looking fence WHICH was bordered with barbed wire. Not likely that he WOULD made it there either, considering the guards standing in front of it and the fact that it was most probably locked and, oh, yes, the huge free space from his point to the door.

Behind him the halls formed a long alley of about 100 meters. At the end of it was the fence and the watch tower from where the flood light was coming from. It was standing directly in front of the fence. 

And probably guarded.

And a better alternative to open-plaza.

Keeping hidden in the shadows of the halls he ran down the alley.


	6. Bones

There was one guard standing in front of the door to the tower, thirty meters away from his current position. Carefully Bond glanced around the corner of the hall to get a better look.

One guard, armed with an automatic gun developed for military purpose.

He gripped his own gun tighter as he calculated the angle and speed at which he would have to shoot. The sirens howled in his ears and he let out a deep breath. He needed to be fast, one shot that had to hit before anyone would take notice of his current position or before the guard would spray him with bullets – and to spare the meagre remains of his ammunition.

Fluidly he stepped around the corner, gun aiming at the guard. The man saw him, weapon already half-way raised and mouth opening to call the other watchmen.

One muffled sound as he pulled the trigger and the bullet embedded itself right between the eyes.

Bond was already sprinting over the open area before the dead body had hit the ground. He knelt down next to it, prying lifeless fingers away from the weapon. The gun was too heavy and bulky for his taste, his hands more used to the light-weighted, sleek guns Q developed. He could already feel this one weighing him down and it would be reducing his speed, but for now it was the only thing available.

He missed the broad supply of carefully - for his abilities and needs - developed weapons from Q. He missed the voice in his ear piece, bantering and challenging him, wit and quips, guiding him safely out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into.

_'It would be an easy thing for him to hack into their systems and get me out of here.'_

To his surprise, he didn't resent the notion. Before he met Q he would have hated to be dependent on anyone. But now he had to admit that they formed a really good team. 

_'At least before you let things go a bit too far_ ,' his mind reminded him and he shook his head to clear it from the more than a bit distracting thoughts, adjusted his grip on the heavy gun and pressed down the handle of the door to the tower.

 

It was 3 AM and MI6's headquarters were buzzing like a wasp nest which someone had poked with a stick.

The main doors opened and M strode in, not one trace of sleep on her stern face.

“Where is Tanner?” she demanded as she stepped down the stairs to the floor. One of the interns walked towards her with hurried steps, clutching a folder nervously to his chest.

“Mr Tanner is in the main room of Q branch, together with the Quartermaster himself, ma'am.”

M gave a curt nod in his general direction and walked towards the door at the end of the room with determined steps, the intern – his name was Harris if she remembered correctly – struggling to keep up with her pace.

“Situation?” she asked shortly.

“Q discovered that the company 007's mission concerned actually develops highly illegal biological weaponry. The mission has been ranked up for three levels, seeing that the factory premises are expected to be strongly guarded and the employed guards have military training. The information is from the flash drive 007 retrieved from Japan, Q had managed to decode the file in question at about 2 AM.”

M spared a glance to her side. “This late?”

“Uhm, apparently?”

M didn't answer, but the line of her mouth tightened for a brief second.

Harris did know better than to ask and shuffled away quickly.

 

“What do we have?” M asked upon entering Q branch's main room. Tanner was speaking on the phone and poked Q in the shoulder with his free hand to signalize him to answer. There was a flash of general unhappiness about this unwelcome distraction on his face, but Q nonetheless did as he told.

“So far we have close to nothing at all,” he said without even looking up from his laptop – which M considered as very impolite, but this situation didn't exactly call for politeness.

“We know that Bond arrived at the Berlin airport Tegel at 7:31, they saved the data and I found some videos of the security cameras featuring him. After that: nothing. He didn't check in at any of the bigger hotels, probably because he didn't want us to find him, considering that they all store the information about how many and who visited them. I could probably find him if I'd use the traffic cameras, but that would take too much time, which we don't have.”

“Who says that we don't have the time? There is no evidence that 007 did already start infiltrating the company,” M asked sharply.

“Now is the time where the company would be the fewest guarded, that were if it wouldn't be a high-class criminal one. Therefore now would be the best time for Bond to break in, or to be more exact, about one hour ago. Meaning that if he isn't at breaking in, he is already inside. The level of security isn't visible from the outside, they are too clever for that, so Bond wouldn't notice it till it's already too late.”

“And why wouldn't Bond enter during the work hours and try to get in unseen while everyone is too busy to notice him?”

“Because it isn't his style.”

There was a moment of silence, during which even Tanner stopped speaking into his phone.

“Excuse me, Quartermaster, I think I might have misunderstood what you just said,” M said icily.

Q looked up from his laptop, fingers still typing, his eyes determined behind his glasses. 

“I do think that I worked long enough with Bond to predict his course of action by now, seeing that he more often than not fails to inform me what he is going to do by words.”

“You have absolutely no evidence to support your point.”

“Experience.”

“For god's sake, Q!” 

“I know that he _will_ be inside there. And I also know that the chances for him to make it out there safe and sound are practically non-existent.”

M walked up to his desk. “This is a mere speculation, nothing else!”

Q's eyes flickered to his monitor. M was just about to continue, when he turned the laptop around so she could see the screen.

The fuzzy image of a security camera showed Bond who was currently blasting away someone's head with an automatic gun.

She glanced up to Q. 

“Just because you were right doesn't mean that it is okay to act against the rules. We're going to have to talk about this and there will be consequences.”  
Her eyes wandered back to the screen.

“For now... just get him safely out of there.”


	7. Chapter 7

By the time he had reached the control room of the watch tower, the magazine of the automatic gun was empty, there were ten dead bodies lying in the hall and he had torn his shoulder wound open when he smashed someone's head with the barrel of the gun.

The room, in comparison to the rest of the tower fairly wide, was more than a bit rustic, naked concrete and dim, naked light bulbs. The windows were bolted with rusting iron bars, making the room look more like a prison than anything else. Which it also seemed to be for James.

The only change was the huge panel full of control boards and high tech monitors that showed live feeds from the surveillance cameras.

It really didn't look good for him. Everywhere were guards scurrying around like busy ants. For now they were concentrating their strength on the main building, as they had seen him there last before he had escaped them narrowly. However, it wouldn't take long until they decided that he was obviously somewhere else. And a trail of dead guards was definitely not the most subtle hint to his current point of hiding.

He walked to the windows, gripping the bars and shook them. The frame of the windows was more than friable and he could already move the iron for several centimetres.

He stemmed one foot against the wall and pulled.

The iron bars disengaged themselves from the concrete. James pulled them free and chunks of beton rained on the floor.

Using the bars, he shattered the rather thin window glass and looked outside. He could see the outer industry area, the sickly orange-yellow light of strong lamps dissolving the black of the night sky.

He could see the ground under the window, just outside of the area the fence margined.

He was too far up to jump.

 

 

“The German agents are on their way now,” Tanner said after ending the call.

“Good,” Q answered shortly, eyes focussed on his screen.

“I think... they were a bit confused by the equipment they should take with them,” Tanner remarked tentatively.

“They'll understand soon enough, don't worry.”

 

Rapidly pacing up and down in the surveillance room like a caged animal he cudgelled his mind for any plan that had the most likely chance of him getting out of there in one piece.

There weren't exactly many plans he had come up with so far, and the few ones didn't exactly promise high chances.

His eyes flickered to the live feeds, where the first guards where now pouring out of the main building. He didn't have much time left.

And then the monitor went black.

 

On the other side of the channel, a satisfied smirk appeared on Q's face.

 

'75949589544' appeared in white Arial font on the black screen.

James' brow furrowed as his eyes wandered over the long row of numbers.

 

“Come on, 007,” Q mumbled impatiently, his fingertips drumming on the table.

On the feed Bond froze and then turned around swiftly, scanning the room until he found the security camera Q was using to get the video.

He raised one hand, making a two quick gestures in ASL with it.

' _Q?_ '

'That's right. You landed yourself in a pretty huge mess again, 007,' he typed and pressed 'Enter'.

A second later the text appeared on the screen in Germany. Bond read it and then turned back to the camera to roll his eyes at it, but the corner of his mouth was quirking in a mixture between relief and amusement.

' _Can you get me out of it?_ ' he signed.

' _Help is already on the way_ ,' Q wrote back.

Bond raised an eyebrow at the camera. ' _How long?_ '

' _ETA in two minutes. You'll have to jump out of the window._ '

Bond's eyes flickered from the camera to the window and back. ' _What?!?_ ' he mouthed, then signed: ' _You hopefully know that I'm pretty high up here?_ '

' _I noticed, Bond. That's why your help brings a net with them._ '

Bond was already starting to sign back, but although he was fast, he was no match to the speed at which Q could type.

' _This is the easiest and fastest way available, so swallow your goddamn pride, Bond. It's not that hard._ '

Bond flipped a hand gesture at him that definitely wasn't part of the ASL alphabet.

' _Don't be childish, 007. The cavalry should be here soon, btw, so better start getting ready,_ ' Q typed back grinning.

' _B t w ?_ ' Bond signed. ' _Rather informal for someone posh as you._ '

' _Just shut up and go to the window._ '

' _And here I thought you would be missing my voice._ ' Bond walked to the smashed window and Q sighed in mild annoyance over this stubborn man and his obsession with having the last word.

 

Picking the iron bars up from the floor, James started to remove the sharp glass shivers as thoroughly as it was possible.

The shards clattered on the hard floor and he leaned back to examine his work. There were still sharp edges at the frame, but if he moved carefully it should work.

He looked out of the now not anymore window but hole in the wall, noticing the headlights of a car coming nearer. He waited till it was close enough to the fence and then started to climb into the embedded wall hole, which proved to be more difficult than it looked accomplishing this acrobatic masterstroke, he cowered half in and half out of the building, the cold wind biting in his skin, and waited while three dark figures excited the car and spanned the net.

He took one deep breath and fell forward.

 

He fell and fell and fell and- then there suddenly was the net, closing in around him and god, it stank. Definitely not the most dignified escapes he ever had. He would have to talk with Q about this.

The net was lowered to the ground slowly and he entangled himself from it the moment the agents let go of it, refusing to let this embarrassing moment go on any longer than it needed to.

In front of him stood two women, one of them with military short hair and one with it bound in a plait, both of them wearing dark clothes, their faces as impassive as stone. The one man in the group was the complete contrary, grinning like a Cheshire cat, light brown hair framing his quite handsome face.

He extended a hand to Bond, that he shook, though not because he wanted to.

“Hello, my name's Markus,” he said cheerfully. “Those are Andrea and Alex, we're your cavalry. Nice to meet you!” The grin brightened even more and the woman with the short hair rolled her eyes.

He knew this man for about ten seconds and he already hated him with passion.

 


	8. Veins

The black SUV with tinted windows, unwanted courtesy from MI6, was already waiting for him by the time his plane touched the ground. The non-descriptive driver with dark sunglasses that were completely unnecessary on this cloudy autumn morning opened the door of the car when he approached it in a silent invitation. For a moment he debated to just walk away and pretend that he didn't notice the obvious, just out of spite. But frankly he was already deep enough in problems to add even more – though that hadn't stopped him at earlier times.

What stopped him was his need to know.

MI6 shouldn't have known that he was in trouble, considering that the mission wasn't ranked nearly high enough for it to be something that posed an actual threat to his life. Even a lower ranked agent wouldn't have needed a technique intern to overlook it, so it didn't make any sense that they managed arranging his rescue (he still resented the sound of that) in time, since they weren't monitoring him at that time. They probably had looked for him, but not to the extent of actually finding him (they being most likely some poor intern who was expendable and got the job without anyone expecting him to actually have success) – after all, he was allowed to take extra missions if he wanted to (working long hours was always something the people in charge of MI6's budget loved to see); the only reason why they technically had to order him back was the fact that he hadn't formally signed in for the mission.

The only logical explanation from his point of view was that they had known that the mission wasn't what it looked like. And that set off some very not nice conclusions.

So he climbed into the car that smelled of new leather and ventilation system and his new chauffeur drove off.

 

“And the long lost son is finally coming home,” Tanner said sarcastically when Bond walked into his office.

“Give me a break, Tanner,” Bond said in an annoyed tone. “M already chewed me out, so tell me something new for once.”

M had indeed done so. For the period of a full hour. Starting the moment he had sat down on the chair across from her desk, cutting his questions of with a 'Tanner will answer them to you later' and then held a curtain lecture that listed him every proof why what he did was a completely idiotic and childish thing and that she swore that she would fire him someday and that he would get them all killed (probably from a heart attack). There might have even fallen some very un-lady like words.

He felt nearly bad about his actions.

But just nearly.

“Something new? I don't know, it's 12 °C outside, maybe the sun will come out later this afternoon, it's currently 12:56 pm-”

“You're being cynical,” Bond remarked with an arched eyebrow.

“Brilliant observation, Bond,” Tanner replied.

“You're only cynical when you're in an extremely bad mood or didn't sleep nearly as much as you should the last night. Or both.”

“Someone give this man an award.”

“It's both this time then?”

“And guess whose fault it is again.”

Bond didn't even bother to reply, instead walking up to Tanner's desk and thumping both palms on it, making Tanner look up from the paper work he was currently filing in.

“Enough pleasantries, Tanner. How. Did. You. Find. Me?” Each word was punctuated by Bond leaning forward a fraction until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Tanner.

Tanner was way too tired to put up with his attitude now. “Are you really trying to intimidate me, Bond? Instead of embarrassingly failing you could just ask like any other normal human being, you know.”

Bond let out an annoyed huff and Tanner continued: “There wasn't really an 'us' who found you. I didn't even have that much of a part in it, I just called M and made the arrangements for our agents in Germany to pick you up. And the not-sleeping thing. The one who found you was Q.”

Bond straightened up. “Q?” he asked unbelieving.

Tanner shuffled through his paperwork and replied with a short nod.

“Where is he now?” Bond demanded to know.

Tanner had apparently found what he had been searching for, a non-descriptive white envelope. “He's not at the headquarters any more. Not that it would matter. You're getting your next mission.”

He held the envelope out to Bond.

With a faint surprise mirroring in his face the agent took the envelope and turned it in his hands, noticing that there was nothing written on it. Running his fingers over the surface, he felt a little capsule and what seemed to be a piece of paper.

“That's it? I've just came back and you're already assigning me my next mission?”

“It's your fault, honestly.”

“Do I at least get proper equipment.”

“There won't be any equipment needed.”

Bond looked up from the envelope. “What do you mean, no equipment? Not even a gun?”

“Just the standard model you're already carrying. Now stop besieging my office, any further mission details are in that envelope, so bugger off, Bond.”

 

He left MI6 headquarters through one of the side entrances and blended with the bustling masses that swept through London's streets, keeping an impassive face and a not too fast pace. The bulk washed him ashore of the slightly calmer bank of the Thames.

He sat down on one of the free benches, scaring off a handful of pigeons who however started to came nearer once he settled down in hope for something edible. He glared at them when they hopped around his legs, but they didn't seem to care. First Tanner and now the pigeons. Nobody seemed to be impressed by his death stare any more.

Sighing he took out the envelope from the hidden pocket inside his jacket and opened it.

Inside were indeed a pill (white and packaged) and a folded piece of paper. He put the pill back in the envelope - for he knew, it could be everything, ranking from Aspirin to Arsenic.

Instead he focussed his attention on the little letter.

The writing was in a neat, small hand he immediately recognized as Tanner's.

 

_"Bond, if you're reading this you're probably already been to my office and annoyed me to no end with your questions about the things, that happened on your most recent mission and weren't supposed to happen. Before you delve further in crazy paranoid plot idea, finish reading this:_

_MI6 didn't know about the companies - more dangerous - illegal activities (as I most likely already told you, but you probably didn't listen nor believe me). After you ran off, we set someone to look for you, but as we expected they hadn't had any success. We didn't know about your status until Q phoned me in the middle of the night, telling me that he had discovered the name of the company on the flash drive you retrieved from Japan, along with some very not nice information about their actual activities. He called in an emergency situation, hacked into their servers and got your ass out of there. All of this isn't officially known yet. Q didn't have the actual authorisation to do what he did, since he didn't have any evidence that you were actually in danger until he hacked into the servers. For now, M has temporarily suspended him for three days. I highly doubt that she will fire him - what he did isn't that severe and he is the best we have when it comes to technology. However, his position as Quartermaster is in serious jeopardy, so the suspension isn't made public until he comes back. It will be already hard enough for him to regain the lost respect from some of his co-workers without them talking behind his back when he isn't here._

_I've sent him home by now, in the hope of getting him to sleep at least for a few hours. The pill is for fever-reducing, since I think he might be running one by now. That's your mission: Check on him and sort out whatever problem you two have. I hope that I do not have to threaten you to do it, but I will if you call for it._

_W. Tanner_

 

James sighed and folded the paper. He fetched a lighter out of one of his pockets and set the paper on fire, threw it on the gravel walk and watched as the flames devoured the bleached white – standard procedure with every piece of confidential data that was better stored in a harder to access mind than on paper.

He took the pill out of the envelope and turned it in his hand for a moment.

The little rippled waves from where he threw it in the Thames were quickly blurred by the breeze that flew over the water.

The pigeons flew upwards in a flutter of wings when he stood up from the bench and disappeared in the mass of people again.


End file.
